Little Pistol
by Setaflow
Summary: Paladin Danse's death left a few scars, it seems. Maxson just wasn't aware how deep those scars ran.


**Hey y'all! Guess who's three years late and needs to exorcise her Fallout 4 demons?**

* * *

White clouds rolled along through the sky, chasing each other in an endless race through the blue. The Prydwen remained overhead like a watchful guardian, casting a long dark shadow over the Boston Airport where Maxson was standing. His eyes flicked back and forth along the strip of asphalt he stood above, taking in the eleven new initiates that were lined up against the wall of the ruined building. Most looked apprehensive, staring up at him with a tempered but awestruck sort of respect. One or two were already standing at attention before a Paladin was to arrive with their new orders.

"Some crowd," Proctor Ingram noted at his side. Her power armor caused her to tower over him, and Maxson was sure that she would be the intimidating figure of this briefing had he not been present. They had taken up position on the nearest scaffold, waiting for the scene to unfold. Flanking either side of them were seven knights and knight-sergeants, adorned in power armor with their laser rifles at the ready. Some of them took turns to eye the work being done on Liberty Prime; the prime scribes fired away at the metal, sending sparks cascading down to the ground.

"We need to find a better place for this," Maxson growled. "Someone's going to get sparks in their hair and the next thing we know, the entire building could be aflame, and we can watch our entire fight against the Institute burn up in smoke."

Proctor Ingram snorted good-naturedly. "Don't you think that's an overdramatization, Elder?"

"You can never be too careful."

"No, I suppose not," Proctor Ingram concurred. "I'll ask Scribes Logan and Chen to find a new spot for this. Suppose it would probably give all of us some peace of mind in case the initiates decide to toy around with Liberty Prime, but hopefully they aren't as thickheaded as Initiate Nichols."

The sound of a vertibird diverted Maxson's attention. He and Proctor Ingram turned to see the plane descend from the Prydwen and swiftly find a landing spot somewhere close by. All the initiates were now standing rigidly in place, awaiting the arrival of the Paladin that would be giving them their assignments.

A minute or so ticked by. Maxson kept his eyes on the entrance to the front of the airport, yet was still caught off guard when the requested Paladin made their way through the gate.

Paladin O'Hare was, in his opinion, an unwelcome sight. She at least had the decency to wear her Brotherhood uniform, and her short brown hair was in a neat, if not slightly inelegant bun on the top of her head. She'd thrown a bomber jacket over her uniform, even though Maxson was positive she had not been issued one. She turned the corner with a small smile, the scar that scored through her left eyebrow visible even from this distance.

"I was unaware that Paladin O'Hare had returned," Maxson said, a noticeable edge to his voice.

"She came back yesterday, I think," Proctor Ingram didn't notice Maxson's apprehensiveness, or at the very least chose to ignore it. "I saw her eating dinner with some of the other knights last night. But I didn't expect her to be giving the new initiates a briefing."

"Who was supposed to be doing this?"

"Not sure. I think I heard that Knight-Captain Cade would be in charge of finding someone."

Figures. Knight-Captain Cade had a habit of picking the easiest option, not the best option, and Paladin O'Hare's quarters were right next to the medical area. Wouldn't be too far of a reach to assume he stopped by the Paladin's door, thrust some instructions upon her, and sent her off to do the duty.

"I don't get it," Maxson growled. "Paladin O'Hare hasn't been here for two months." At most, she'd heard of her dropping by to give Proctor Quinlan some dusty documents. As far as he knew, she'd never stayed for more for a couple of hours, never mind overnight. "What is she doing here now?"

"Paladin Danse's death was hard on her," Proctor Ingram noted, a hint of regret somewhere in her words. "While I don't agree with her staying away for so long, I can understand why she wouldn't want to stay in the room that her former supervisor occupied."

Maxson shrugged unsympathetically. "She's a Paladin now. Her duties matter more than some past feelings for a synth."

Proctor Ingram had a look like she wanted to argue, but decided it was best not to voice her concerns. Both returned their attention back to Paladin O'Hare.

She approached the group of initiates that had lined up in her presence, but then turned and saluted to Maxson and Proctor Ingram. After a moment's hesitation, Maxson saluted back to her. Even though it pained him to admit it, she'd come a long way since first boarding the ship with Paladin Danse sixth months ago. Her first salute was sloppy, and she fumbled in her movements, though her Latin pronunciation was impeccable. For most initiates it was usually the other way around: Maxson had at least a grudging respect for that.

That didn't mean that he didn't notice the burning look Paladin O'Hare now gave him when he saluted back to her. Hazel met brown, her expression placid enough but her gaze telling him that much love wasn't gained in her two-month absence.

Paladin O'Hare turned and saluted to the initiates. They saluted back to her, each moving as if they were connected to the same brain. O'Hare nodded, and they fell back at ease.

"Good morning, everyone," Paladin O'Hare greeted them. "My name is Paladin Eleanor O'Hare. I'm here today to give you your first briefing as knight initiates."

A few of the initiates broke into uncontrolled smiles. Maxson could even hear the grin on Paladin O'Hare's face as she continued on. "You're all standing here because your sponsors have deemed you ready to continue your training into full-fledged knighthood. Take it from me, it isn't as easy as it looks, but myself and the other paladins aboard the Prydwen will be watching your progress. Soon, we hope that you grow into knights that the Brotherhood will be proud of."

"She's doing well so far," Proctor Ingram said lightly. Maxson only nodded.

"Some of you were squires not too long ago, and some of you weren't. Take it from me that being born into the Brotherhood doesn't make a great soldier, so I expect no discrimination based upon it. Look around you, initiates; these are your brothers and sisters now. You take care of each other, no matter where you come from. Now, your training will include teamwork exercises, weapon practice, maintenance of weaponry and armor, wasteland survival, and yes—power armor training." An excited murmur swept through the line of initiates like a heavy gust of wind. "In the next few days, you will each be assigned to…"

Suddenly, Paladin O'Hare's speech came to a halt. Maxson's eyes drifted from her to the line of initiates, falling on one in particular towards the center of the crowd. She was of reasonable build, with plaited sandy hair and a splash of youthful freckles. She was raising her hand, waving it back and forth in an effort to get the Paladin's attention.

Paladin O'Hare sounded perplexed but nodded to the girl. "Um, yes?"

The Initiate put her hand down. "Permission to speak, ma'am?" she asked.

There was a beat before Paladin O'Hare waved her hand. "Permission granted, Initiate…?"

"Initiate Carolyn Danvers, ma'am," Initiate Danvers nodded respectfully. "Is it true that you were the Paladin that hunted and performed the execution of Paladin Danse, ma'am?"

A jolt of ice shot through Maxson's bloodstream. He slowly leaned forward to grasp the rail, ignoring Proctor Ingram's wayward look of curiosity, watching Paladin O'Hare with baited breath for her next move. Whatever outburst he expected never came, however, so Paladin O'Hare maintained her composure. Yet, there was still a distinct spike in sharpness to her tone as she responded, "Yes, Initiate."

Initiate Danvers put her hand down with another nod. It took a few seconds for Paladin O'Hare to move forward in her speech as she eyed the initiates to see if they would pipe up again, but she continued onward, and Maxson could breathe again.

"As I was saying, you are all going to be assigned to squadrons in the next few days," Paladin O'Hare said, "Most of you will be separated from your friends, but you can continue to see each other in your time off. Three of you will be assigned to work with the field scribes, and three more…"

She trailed off again. Initiate Danvers had her hand in the air once more.

"Someone's eager," Proctor Ingram noted, a knowing grin on her face. Maxson couldn't bring himself to share her enthusiasm. His grip on the railing grew tighter.

Paladin O'Hare held the Initiate's gaze for several moments before growling, "Permission to speak, Initiate Danvers."

"What was it like, tracking down Paladin Danse?" Initiate Danvers inquired, tone hopeful. "He was your sponsor, right? Did you know that he was a synth spy before you got your mission?"

Inhaling and exhaling very loudly, Paladin O'Hare turned to Initiate Danvers. "Initiate, I fail to see what any of this has to do with your very first briefing as an Initiate. This isn't the time and place to go over past missions, especially _my_ past missions."

Initiate Danvers' face visibly fell. Was she not expecting that sort of reaction? Maxson appreciated the girl's tenacity, at the very least, though he doubted it would survive much further past this. "I just—" she stumbled through those two words before Paladin O'Hare interrupted.

"Initiate, please save your questions for after the briefing. And please, for future reference: spare me those questions. I would prefer not to talk about what I had to do to Paladin Danse," Paladin O'Hare said coolly, "Do you understand?"

Initiate Danvers nodded.

"Good," Paladin O'Hare, returning her attention to the rest of the group. "Again, three of you will go with the field scribes. Another three will be working on general maintenance of the airport and the Brotherhood's machinery," Ingram chuckled as the group of initiates groaned loudly, "and the remainder of you will learn the ropes with daily patrols accompanied by seasoned knights and lancers. These shifts will cycle weekly, so you shouldn't be doing the same job over—"

Maxson didn't need to hear Paladin O'Hare trail off this time. His attention at this point was solely for Initiate Danvers. And sure enough, her hand shot up as if it detested the idea of remaining at her side. A boy next to her elbowed her, clearly trying to spare them from trouble, but Initiate Danvers refused to lower her hand.

Paladin O'Hare turned back to her, a sigh escaping from her lips. "Initiate Danvers, if this has something to do with Paladin Danse and anything relating to him, then I strongly suggest that you stow those questions before I actually get angry," Well, too late for that now. Paladin O'Hare could have had steam pouring from her ears, and her cheeks had gone a noticeable shade darker.

"Was it hard to execute Paladin Danse?" Initiate Danvers pressed. Maxson grimaced, body tense. "I mean, I don't think that the Brotherhood ever had a synth infiltrate its' ranks before, never mind reach the rank of Paladin? You basically took his place—"

" _Initiate!"_

At Paladin O'Hare's shout, Initiate Danvers snapped out of her ramble and returned back at attention. The rest of the initiates around her stood up straight and crossed their arms behind their backs as Paladin O'Hare turned on her heel and returned back the way she came. Had she been any angrier, Maxson figured, then there probably would have been smoke rising up with every step she took.

Paladin O'Hare's voice was hard with bitterness. "Listen, Initiate, I don't know what business you have with my missions, but it is my personal recommendation that this morbid fascination with Paladin Danse gets dropped. I don't need to exposit every single point of my mission to you, so I'll make this quick. Yes, Danse was my sponsor. Yes, it was difficult. No, I would prefer to never talk about it again. And finally, what part of me discussing my mission to execute my former superior pertains to any part of _your_ training?" A look of indignation passed over Initiate Danvers' face, but Paladin O'Hare cut across her before she could get a word in edgewise, "Nothing. It has nothing to do with your training. So, I highly suggest dropping it before you dig too far and don't like what you end up finding."

Was that a veiled threat to her, or to him? Maxson stood upright, his blood somehow getting colder than it was before. "Someone needs to wrangle Paladin O'Hare back under control," he hissed in undertone to Proctor Ingram.

Proctor Ingram's mouth was a taut line, but when she spoke her voice was sympathetic. "She's just putting Initiate Danvers back in line," she said sensibly. "After all, Initiate Danvers knows better than to press a Paladin so hard when it's her first day. I honestly think that O'Hare could be a lot angrier, all things considered."

God, it was useless to talk about this matter. Of course Proctor Ingram only cared about whether Paladin O'Hare showed the proper order and discipline in front of her superiors; she had no reason to fear any ulterior motives or hidden resolutions. And while Paladin O'Hare was definitely straddling the line of Maxson's patience, the Initiate's persistence of the topic was an undeniable source of irritation. Maxson would have to have a conversation with Initiate Danvers' sponsor about how she was interrupting her first briefing because of it.

Still, Paladin O'Hare's words echoed in his head like glass shattering over and over again. " _…before you dig too far and don't like what you end up finding"?_ What was she implying? How far would 'too far' end up being?

Paladin O'Hare backed away from Initiate Danvers, addressing the rest of the line. "If you would like to read about my mission concerning the fate of Paladin Danse, then by all means; pay Proctor Quinlan a visit and read up on my report if you have some time to kill." Her voice had a severe edge to it that seemed to slice welts into the thin air, "But please think twice before chasing me down. I would prefer to leave that part of my past behind me."

And with that, she resumed her march.

"Damn," Initiate Danvers snapped as Paladin O'Hare stalked away from her. "I don't know why you're getting so defensive over some nonsense with a _synth_."

The following reaction was so instantaneous that even Maxson had a hard time processing what had happened. He heard screams, the shuffling of feet, and the sound of something hard hitting the wall. Several knights besides him and Proctor Ingram instinctively raised their rifles at the sight of Paladin O'Hare slamming Initiate Danvers against the side of the Boston Airport, an arm over her throat. Initiate Danvers kicked and coughed, but the Paladin's strength was a much greater match for hers. Maxson watched as Paladin O'Hare lifted her arm a little, raising the initiate onto her toes. The rest of the initiates had recoiled away from the confrontation, staring in what Maxson assumed was a mix of awe and horror.

"Do you want to know something, Initiate?" Paladin O'Hare's voice was venomous. He couldn't see her face, and Maxson wasn't sure if he wanted even a glimpse of what expression she wore, "It's clear to me that even in death, Paladin Danse still had more honor and loyalty in his left hand than you have in your entire body."

Initiate Danvers was now off her feet as Paladin O'Hare pressed harder on her throat. She let out a ragged cough, fighting for air.

"Elder…" Proctor Ingram trailed off. Maxson only stood, frozen to the spot.

"You want to know what it was like to hunt down and execute Paladin Danse? Because I'll tell you, Danvers." Paladin O'Hare continued, fire dripping from her words. "It's not like killing a feral. It's not like killing a super mutant. Hell, it's not even like killing a regular synth. Because Paladin Danse wasn't a regular synth. He was Brotherhood, through and through. He fought for, served for, and killed for the Brotherhood for years, just like you're hoping to do here. Now let me tell you this, and every single time that you see my face, I want you to remember what I say. I didn't execute a synth. I had to look into my friends' eyes as I put a bullet through his head," she paused for a moment to collect herself, then said, "and that's not something I would wish upon my own worst enemy."

" _Elder!"_

Proctor Ingram's voice was sharp in his ear. That was finally enough to snap Maxson out of his trance. In one swift movement, he turned on heel and raced down the staircase. He heard the sounds of several knights following him, but he didn't bother to give them orders. Pushing through the crowd of initiates, he made straight for the commotion in front of him. "Paladin O'Hare!" he yelled.

Paladin O'Hare didn't respond at first, her arm still firmly planted over Initiate Danvers' windpipe. The younger woman's mouth was agape, struggling to suck in a breath. Maxson stopped right before the pair. "Release Initiate Danvers," he barked, " _now_."

For a moment, Maxson wondered if she was even going to listen to him, but she stepped away from the Initiate and released her. Initiate Danvers landed on her feet, but they buckled from underneath her and sent her to her knees, gasping. Paladin O'Hare turned to face him; her face was twisted in anger and her eyes burning in fury. A fury, Maxson realized, that was almost entirely for him.

Like the shadow of a bird, her look of hatred passed over him on her way towards the huddle of initiates before them. Some of them shrank back under her gaze. "If _any_ of you mention Paladin Danse in my presence again, I will make sure that Proctor Ingram has you working on Prydwen maintenance until your hands fall off," she snarled. "Do I make myself clear?"

Every initiate nodded, even Initiate Danvers. She was standing now, albeit supported by two other initiates that came to her aid.

Paladin O'Hare nodded once, standing rigid. "You're all dismissed, initiates," she saluted stiffly, "Ad Victoriam".

There was a weak, apprehensive murmur of "Ad Victoriam" amongst the initiates. Most saluted back to her; Initiate Danvers was so dazed that one of the other initiates supporting her grabbed her hand and made the salute on her behalf.

With a nod, Paladin O'Hare turned and headed in the opposite way, back through Maxson, Proctor Ingram, and the seven or so knights that had followed him down onto the tarmac. She clipped his shoulder along the way but did not apologize. Most of the knights parted down the middle, giving her a clear path back to the vertibird landing pad. "I'm going back to my quarters," she said darkly. "I have to leave. There's business that needs attending to."

"Paladin!" Proctor Ingram called after her.

She didn't respond. Maxson just watched as Paladin O'Hare marched off into the distance and disappeared behind a barricade, leaving twenty stunned men and women in her wake.

-X-

 _The orders were simple. A synth had no place in the Brotherhood-a single leak of information or a single bit of misaligned code would be all of their downfall if Paladin Danse somehow went rogue. A shame, really. Paladin Danse was a fine soldier, loyal and honest and about as brave as ten men. But it wasn't a man, was he? It looked human, but it wasn't—not really._

 _When Proctor Quinlan had informed him of the Paladin's true nature, the pressure in the air was palpable. They both knew that Danse had vanished. It and Knight O'Hare had been tasked to find the Sentinel Site and O'Hare had mentioned in her debriefing that Paladin Danse didn't accompany her on the return journey. No one had seen Paladin Danse since. It could be anywhere in the Commonwealth by now. Hell, it could be safely back in the bosom of the fucking Institute now that it knew it had blown its cover. They were all dead if it was. "What are you going to do, Elder?" Proctor Quinlan asked in reverence._

 _O'Hare was called for two reasons. One; Maxson needed a knight that knew the territory if he had a chance to find the synth, and to be honest the rest of the Prydwen's crew knew the terrain about as well as a blind mole rat. Two; Maxson had his own reasons to test the knight's loyalty. She was rarely on the Prydwen, claiming she was bogged down with other duties. When she was in attendance, she rarely ventured out of the company of Paladin Danse. She followed orders, sure, but how far could he issue those orders before she broke? Curse his own morbid curiosity, but he had to test her limits._

 _As Maxson had briefed her, her posture was tight, her expression unreadable. The moment he finished, she spoke for the first time. "I'm not killing Danse," was all she said, matter-of-factly, as if she had a say in the matter._

 _"Excuse me, Knight?"_

 _She hesitated for a moment, sensing that this was probably the wrong thing to say. "With all due respect, Elder," she backtracked. Her stoic expression melted for a moment, and before she put her wall back up Maxson swore he say the faintest hints of desperation and fury under that emotionless mask, "but there has to be another way. Danse deserves a chance to explain himself."_

 _Himself. She still saw the human through that masquerade. Unease settled somewhere in Maxson's stomach._

 _In the end, she agreed to the mission. It was a tense couple of minutes, with Maxson wondering if there was a chance that the two of them would go enter a standoff or that she would simply refuse to follow his orders. Knight O'Hare stalked off with her task, whistling for the dog at her side and leaving Maxson to watch the two of them walk away in silence._

 _Proctor Quinlan returned several hours later, confirming that O'Hare had ventured out. "She took my explanation rather well, actually," he said idlily as Maxson listened, "and then some field scribe came in with more information. I'm fairly certain she left not long after that."_

 _A scribe? "Which field scribe?" Maxson asked._

 _After a moment to think, Quinlan responded, "Scribe Haylen. She's supposed to be stationed at Cambridge, correct?"_

 _Yes, she was. Scribe Haylen and Paladin Danse had been part of the initial group that recruited Knight O'Hare._

 _The unease clawed even harder at his gut. "Send for a lancer," Maxson growled unexpectantly, causing Proctor Quinlan to start, "I need a vertibird."_

 _Twenty minutes later, Maxson was the sole passenger of a vertibird making a beeline for the center of the Commonwealth. The pilot was some fresh-faced kid Lancer-Captain Kells could spare who couldn't hide his excitement at personally chauffeuring the Elder about the wasteland. But that joy was lost to Maxson. Instead, he focused on the information in front of him, trying to force down the dread that had long overtaken his initial apprehension._

 _All signs pointed to Listening Post Bravo. That was the emergency rendezvous location of Squad Gladius, or at least what was left of it. Paladin Danse had specially picked it out itself, according to their mission reports. Perhaps as a fallback in case this exact situation were to happen? Maxson couldn't help but wonder whether the intention was benign or deliberate: a genuine strategic point of defense or a hidden pickup location for Institute synths? At this point, Maxson couldn't rule anything out._

 _Yet that was merely the least of Maxson's worries. Scribe Haylen had said something to Knight O'Hare. Probably begging for the life of the synth that she thought was her friend. He would deal with Scribe Haylen's insubordination later; right now, Knight O'Hare had several hours' worth of a head start on the vertibird. For all Maxson knew, she and Danse could be miles away, laughing at his foolishness._

 _He reached the bunker in less than an hour. Maxson ordered the vertibird to be set down somewhere far enough away to avoid attention, told the lancer to wait for him, and then set off for the bunker on foot. It was a mile east of the vertibird, so if Knight O'Hare were to have journeyed here straight from the Prydwen, she would be none the wiser to his presence._

 _A half an hour later, Maxson had settled himself about fifty feet away from the bunker on a small rise. Concealed in dead brush and undergrowth, he had a perfect view of the bunker without giving his position away. The place was guarded by two security turrets, so Maxson made sure to remain as close as possible while still staying out of their range. At the base of the bunker was a still-sealed door—he had beaten Knight O'Hare here, maybe just barely._

 _Time ticked by. The sun reached its peak and began it's slow decent towards the west. Maxson remained, invisible to the prying eye, hoping against hope that Knight O'Hare's infernal mutt wouldn't catch his scent._

 _Sounds of barking diverted Maxson's attention eventually. The commotion grew louder until Knight O'Hare emerged from the undergrowth with the dog following. She paused, observing the bunker, then reached for her rifle. One, two, three shots later, both defense turrets lay in smithereens on the ground. Knight O'Hare slung her weapon back onto her shoulder before sliding down into the valley, unlocking the door and disappearing into the bunker with her animal._

 _Each minute that ticked by was agony for Maxson. What was taking her so long? How much resistance was she facing? Would she be greeted by Protectrons? Institute coursers? Or was she just talking to Paladin Danse? Comforting it before she did her duty? Helping it escape? A million questions raced through Maxson's mind that he couldn't answer, so he just sat, staring at the bunker door and stewing in his own thoughts._

 _And then, at last, the door opened. The dog came out first, it's tail wagging rapidly. Knight O'Hare peered out a moment later. She looked to the left, then to the right, as if she expected an ambush right outside the door. She then turned back, and Maxson thought he could hear her say something else. To the dog? He cursed not finding a spot closer to the entrance._

 _Knight O'Hare took a tentative step into the open._

 _A moment later, Paladin Danse followed._

 _It was a sorry-looking excuse for a soldier. The Brotherhood uniform it wore was muddy, it's hair was unkempt, and Maxson could see the dark circles under its eyes even from this far a distance. But in spite of all of that, it was still Paladin Danse. An_ alive _Paladin Danse._

 _An anger so primal seared through Maxson, white hot and deathly cold at the same time. It was an anger he'd never experienced before. It was an anger that needed to be settled, here and now._

 _He confronted the pair. Demanded to know what was going on and why Knight O'Hare had disobeyed his direct orders by keeping that fucking synth alive. At the very least, Danse mimicked shame. It tried to shift attention away from the Knight to put the blame on its own shoulders. Knight O'Hare, however, was an entirely different story. The resignation she held in his presence on the Prydwen had evaporated the moment the two of them locked eyes, and she went on a verbal tirade that would have riled up even Elder Lyons. Her defiance only matched Maxson's own fury, and the two fought back and forth like raging wildfires. After some time, even Danse became emboldened enough to speak up. It preached something about humanity or loyalty or even trust. When it spoke of its hurt feelings, Maxson could barely bite back a laugh at the foolishness of it all. What, was Knight O'Hare teaching Danse about morality? What would a machine know about morality? It was too late for that now; Maxson wasn't going to let a synth make him feel remorse when it and its kind couldn't even comprehend the damned thing for themselves._

 _Finally, Maxson had heard enough. He unsheathed a knife from his belt, to which Knight O'Hare drew her own pistol. Danse instinctively took a step back. The dog growled threateningly._

 _"I don't intend to debate this any longer," he snapped. "My orders stand, Knight O'Hare. Either you execute Paladin Danse, or I will. The choice is yours."_

 _Knight O'Hare did nothing. Danse's expression fell, finally showing defeat. It raised a hand and placed it on Knight O'Hare's shoulder. "It's alright," it said, voice quiet. "You did your best."_

 _Yet, almost as soon as it's hand rested on her shoulder did Knight O'Hare shrug it off. Furiously, she stepped in front of the synth, positioning her body between it and Maxson. "You want to kill Danse? Fine," she spat. In a move that shocked even Maxson, she threw the pistol she carried at his feet. It bounced on the ground but settled right within arm's reach. "But you're going to have to kill me first."_

 _Maxson stared at her. Was she kidding? No, he realized, she wasn't. Knight O'Hare had planted herself directly in front of the synth, fists curled, expression murderous, yet Maxson knew she had no intention of putting up a struggle. Danse stared at her, looking utterly baffled. "Nora…?" it said._

 _"Danse, shut it," Knight O'Hare snapped before returning her attention to Maxson. "What's it going to be, Maxson?" she spoke his name with such contempt, such scorn, as if it was a curse, "Are you going to kill me just so you can kill Danse? If so, make it quick, because I haven't got all day."_

 _He stared at the gun, then back at her. "Step aside, Knight," he growled._

 _"Make. Me." Knight O'Hare forced the words out through gritted teeth._

 _For a few tense moments, no one did anything. Finally, Maxson shook his head. Granted, confusion was slowly overtaking his anger, but it was a slow ebb, and he wasn't much in the mood for a pointless show of faith. "You're insane, O'Hare," he said._

 _"Maybe I am," O'Hare's voice was burning with impatience, "But I'd rather I die a fool than live a traitor to my friends."_

 _Silence._

 _O'Hare cocked her head. "What's it going to be, Maxson?" there was a hint of a taunt in her words, "Even if you keep Danse alive, your hands are already soiled. Are you going to live with the blood of one soldier on your hands? Or two?"_

 _One heartbeat passed._

 _Two heartbeats passed._

 _Three heartbeats passed._

 _God fucking damnit._

 _Maxson sheathed his knife. He kicked O'Hare's pistol back over to her and watched as she picked it up and holstered it. He never once took his eyes off of her, and O'Hare kept her gaze on him as she put her weapon away._

 _For a moment, neither made a sound, but Maxson finally broke the silence with a bitter sigh. "You're a stubborn woman," he finally said. "So, it appears we've arrived at an impasse. What are your conditions for the synth, Knight?"_

 _"Danse leaves the Commonwealth, no questions asked," O'Hare answered immediately. Danse opened its mouth as if it was going to protest but clearly thought better of it and closed it again. "As far as the Brotherhood is concerned, he's dead and buried. You'll never have to see his face again. And I come back with you. This way, we all get what we want."_

 _She was sorely mistaken if that's what O'Hare assumed he wanted. Maxson would rather she put a bullet through his own skull than see Danse walk off with years' worth of Brotherhood methods and secrets. But something in the back of his mind told him that if he refused, he could lose more than just a former Paladin and a Knight. "Fine," he spat out, "but you and I are to never speak of this, or Danse, again. And if that synth Is spotted still in the Commonwealth when all of this is over…" he let his words hang in the air in an unspoken threat. O'Hare and Danse both nodded their understanding._

 _Maxson's next words were all for Danse. "From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen or speak to anyone else from the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you choose to ignore me, know that you'll be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other?"_

 _"I do," Danse said, then added softly, "Thank you for believing in me, Arthur."_

 _The sound of his own first name hit Maxson like a rail spike in the chest. It meant two things. His time relying on Danse for council and information was over. In a twisted way, he would miss the former Paladin's loyalty._ Synthetic _loyalty, he was forced to correct himself. Most likely programmed into it within the confines of some insidious laboratory, never to be the true thing it hoped to imitate. And second, it meant that despite all that happened, this synth_ still _felt_ _that false sense of loyalty to him. In the face of certain death, it deemed the situation of its own fate handled well enough to thank him. Maxson's insides gave a hard twist, like someone had grabbed his intestines and yanked them in different directions._

 _"Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance," Maxson snarled. "The only reason you're still alive…is because of her."_

 _They both stared at Knight O'Hare. She was rooted to the spot, arms crossed, the embers in her hazel eyes still alight in case she needed to play martyr once more. Danse knitted his eyebrows together, averted his gaze to the ground, and said nothing else._

 _Maxson returned his attention back to O'Hare, pointing an accusing finger at her, "Come, Knight. We're heading back to the Prydwen. I have a vertibird waiting."_

 _At the prospect of a peaceful resolution, the blaze in O'Hare's eyes finally died. "I'll be with you in one second," she said, then added, "Permission to say my goodbyes to Paladin Danse?"_

 _Maxson nearly snapped his denial before stopping himself. "Fine," he agreed, "but make it quick, Knight."_

 _O'Hare nodded and turned to Danse, and Maxson set a course for the vertibird without as much as a glance back. Hushed voices were the last thing he heard before he went out of earshot and the sounds of the Commonwealth around him enveloped his senses._

 _After a few minutes, the thudding of footsteps caused him to turn around. O'Hare and her dog were chasing him down, and Maxson stopped to allow her to reach him and catch her breath._

 _As she reached him, there was a hint of gratefulness in her eyes. She nodded in what Maxson assumed was trying to be respectful. "Thank you for sparing him," she said, the ghost of a grateful smile on her face._

 _Maxson's hands curled. When he responded, his voice was low and threatening. "Don't you_ ever _undermine me like that again, Knight," he growled, "or I will throw you from the Prydwen myself, and then I'll hunt down that thing you call a friend and put it in the grave where it belongs. Are we at an understanding?"_

 _O'Hare's eyes went wide at his threat. And then, they went blank. Her expression morphed back into the same expressionless shell he had seen mere hours ago. Yet, when he looked into her eyes, they were narrowed ever so slightly. Like she was studying him. Analyzing him. Waiting for…something. "Of course, Elder," she said._

 _And that was that. Maxson lingered a moment or two longer before turning around and continuing towards the vertibird. The sound of O'Hare's footsteps was the only thing that told him she was following. Nothing else._

Maxson redid that mission over and over again in his head every day for the past few months, wondering if he should have handled it differently. When he and O'Hare arrived back at the Prydwen, he'd awarded her with the rank of Paladin in order to erase any sort of suspicion that Danse remained alive. He even presented O'Hare with the synth's room and all its' former belongings. A backhanded move, sure, but necessary all the same. The look on O'Hare's face told him that she took offense to moving into Danse's quarters a mere hour after "executing" him, but for once she had the sense to hold her tongue. She offered a terse 'thank you' instead, the tension in the room so thick Maxson felt he could have strangled himself with it.

True to its word, Danse hadn't reared its head in the Commonwealth since. It was a fact that plagued Maxson with a false sense of security. Danse said to have loved the Commonwealth, so Maxson would be hard-pressed to believe it would simply leave, especially after O'Hare stuck her neck out for it like that. He expected rumors to be flying about a dead soldier supposedly risen from the grave running somewhere in the wasteland, but such gossip never reached his ears. Danse remained elusive—a ghost story to everyone aside from the Elder and his Paladin.

Unknown to the rest of the crew on the Prydwen and especially to O'Hare, Maxson himself flew back to Listening Post Bravo a week after the Danse debacle. He couldn't shake the feeling that O'Hare's final conversation with that synth had been a request to remain in the Commonwealth, a final attempt to defy his orders in the face of everything he did for her. But Maxson found nothing when he visited. Just a bunch of broken robots and the half-buried footprints of their final confrontation. And thus, O'Hare remained clean, much to his chagrin.

The incident still weighed heavily in Maxson's mind, but today only proved that it apparently weighed much more so on O'Hare than he initially realized. Initiate Danvers was fine—she was even laughing about it now, telling the other initiates about her new, unsavory feelings towards her superior, but Maxson wasn't about to tell her off for running her mouth. O'Hare was a different story; Proctor Ingram and Lancer-Captain Kells both insisted he addressed O'Hare about the incident. Ingram was sympathetic, Kells perhaps even more incensed than Maxson was. Still, he knew deep down that it was best to pull the problem out by the roots rather than trim it back and let it fester further.

Maxson paced back and forth in his quarters for a good fifteen minutes, rehearsing his argument to O'Hare before she left to God knows where. Finally, with points on hand, he crossed over to her room and entered without knocking.

O'Hare's quarters were quaint. Even when Danse was living there, it never really took the time to make the space its own. The Brotherhood flag was the only source of decoration in the room, a holdover from when Danse occupied the space. It's new owner rarely used the room anyway, and Maxson felt a twinge of anger at the idea that a perfectly good quarters was practically being wasted at the hands of an unruly paladin. O'Hare had her back to him when he entered, facing the lockers as she dressed herself. Her uniform and jacket hung in the open locker, and the bed to her left was covered in her various civilian belongings. A small pile of clothes sat at the foot of her bunk, covered in dog hair. A laser rifle and some assorted mods lay on the desk in the corner, surrounded with spare scrap, pre-war tools, and some drained energy cells. The Paladin's Pip-Boy sat next to it. O'Hare had let her hair down from its bun, brushing it behind her ears before she pulled on a white tank top that had seen better days, covering the ugly scars crisscrossing her back.

"Could I have a word, Paladin?" Maxson growled.

"You can have two, actually:" O'Hare shot back, not looking up, "piss off."

Rage surged through Maxson's body, nearly blinding him. "Have you forgotten who the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel is? Or have your years in stasis frozen your brain, O'Hare?" he asked icily.

O'Hare looked up at that. Her eyes still smoldered, her eyebrows furrowed in anger and contempt, but her expression itself was plain. Almost bored, in a way, as if he was a radroach in the corner that she knew she could simply stomp on. "I don't need to listen to the orders of a boy that finds pleasure in playing at war," she said disdainfully.

"And what do you know of war?"

She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. "What do I know of war?" she echoed, a crooked grin creeping its way up her face. "I stared the bombs that caused the Great War in the face and felt the shock wave pass over my head on its way to kill the dozens of men and women who weren't as unlucky as I was. My husband fought in the war that doomed the planet. His superiors used methods that would make even you and Kells quake in your boots. And you want to know what I know about war _?_ " And she laughed. Scornfully, to his face. "What do _you_ know about war, Maxson, besides that everyone who isn't like you needs to be hunted as if they were animals? Because I'll tell you this-it didn't work the first time, and I don't think it'll work the second."

"Then why even stay in the Brotherhood, if that's how you feel?" Maxson spat back.

O'Hare sighed, taking a pause from strapping on her thigh holster. "Because I believe that the Brotherhood could do great things," she said, now surprisingly calm given how angry she was mere moments ago. "If I learned anything from Danse, it's that the Brotherhood could be a great force in the Commonwealth if you just stopped promoting holy war and scaring everyone out of their wits."

Maxson scoffed. "Danse clearly wasn't as loyal and honorable as you say if that's how you choose to honor its legacy." He crossed his arms. "And speaking of which..."

"We had a deal, Maxson," O'Hare's voice was fiery once more. "You spared Danse, and no one mentions him again."

"I said that _we_ never mention what happened at Listening Post Bravo again," Maxson said. "What, do you want me to quash gossip among the recruits? Say that no one can ever speak of Danse again? You have half a brain if you think I could do that."

Sliding on her brown jacket and clipping the shoulder brace, O'Hare shook her head. "I don't think you understand the concept that Danse can be remembered as a fine member of the Brotherhood without taking a hot shit on his memory."

"I don't see the honor, reason, or benefit of paying my respects to a synth."

"Well, then maybe you'll see the honor, reason, and benefit of looking further past your own nose for once. Who knows—you might be surprised."

Maxson bit his tongue and said nothing. The conversation dipped into a natural lull as O'Hare picked up her sidearms. The first she grabbed was her favorite pistol, the same pistol she had tossed him at Listening Post Bravo. It was a fine enough weapon. Ballistic, 10mm capacity, a built-in suppressor. She holstered it without as much as a sideways glance, but Maxson's eyes trailed downward to where it rested at her hip.

"Where is the synth, O'Hare?" Maxson asked unexpectantly.

If the question caught her off guard, she gave no sign of it. "I don't know," O'Hare said slowly.

"You're lying," She _had_ to be. Even Maxson was surprised at how desperately he wanted that to be true. "I'll ask again; where is the goddamn synth?"

"You can ask a hundred times, and you'll get the same answer," O'Hare countered, temper flaring. "And even if I did know where he was, why on earth would I tell you?"

"Because I'm your superior officer? Because I'm the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel? Need I go on?"

Maxson wasn't a stranger to O'Hare's reputation. Her accomplishments as General to the Commonwealth Minutemen were well advertised, and it meant that he was practically forced to give her a long leash in order for her to stay in the Brotherhood. He hadn't considered it until recently, but her position as leader of a major player in the Commonwealth meant that O'Hare had the one thing that continually eluded Maxson to this day: manpower. She had settlements scattered throughout the wastes, and any number of them would be a perfect place to stow a runaway synth. He also knew he simply couldn't march into one of those locations and raze it to the ground in his pursuit; the Brotherhood wouldn't stoop to the Institute's level, no matter how pressing the reason was.

O'Hare sighed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as if sending a prayer, before answering. "If it helps you, Maxson, then Danse did mention something about some place in D.C. called Rivet City. Said he thought he grew up there…you know, before the whole synth thing came into play. When I said my goodbyes, he made it sound like he was going to head south. What do you all call it now, the Capital Wasteland? Danse sounded like he wanted to head over there. Guess he wanted to see how true his memories actually were."

To be completely honest, Rivet City hadn't crossed Maxson's mind as a possible hideout. He made a mental note to send word to his men in the Capital Wasteland to search the city as soon as possible to see if the lead was any good.

O'Hare, meanwhile, was adjusting the bolt on her hunting rifle. "Now can you please get off of my ass about this?" she asked dryly.

Maxson's nostrils flared. O'Hare set down her gun and returned to dressing herself, settling onto the bed as she laced her boots. "Paladin, I've given you a wide berth due to your unfavorable circumstances," he began. "And I've been understanding: more understanding than most, all things considered. Yet you've done nothing but repay that understanding with disloyalty and egotism. I have half of a mind to strip you of your rank and escort you off of the premises right now."

Unsurprisingly, O'Hare rolled her eyes. Her tone was mocking. "Why don't you just tell everyone I'm a synth instead? Throw me out and tell me to fend for myself? Or maybe send out a squad or two and see if they can find me? Hell, put a bounty on my head, why don't you? See if I like a taste of my own medicine? Karma has a way of biting us in the ass after all, am I right?"

They let the comment sit for a few moments. O'Hare, perhaps sensing she wasn't getting an answer, finished tying her shoes and picked up a set of fingerless gloves.

"You and I both know, Paladin, that your actions concerning Initiate Danvers today not only broke several codes of conduct, but completely undermine this plan of yours to keep the synth alive," Maxson inquired coldly.

O'Hare didn't look up. "But it didn't," she said simply.

"What's to say the next time you have an outburst like that, something was to slip?"

"Hopefully, Danvers and the rest of the initiates now know better to open their mouths around me. I'd rather weed a problem out before it takes over the garden."

"So what, you think the rules just don't apply to you, O'Hare?"

"Well, I've yet to see a damn person on this ship that can stop me."

"That line of thinking is going to get you brought up on charges of treason, Paladin. You'd better watch your goddamn mouth before I file the order myself."

"What you are implying as arrogance, I call doing my fucking duty. You ask me to join. I do it. I do every single mission you and Kells give me without question, and I solve them _your_ way, no matter how much I want to do it _my_ way. So I do it, Maxson. I do everything that you ask, and what does that get me? A gun, one bullet, and an order to put that bullet through my friend's sku—"

" _I should have killed Danse when I had the fucking chance!"_

O'Hare stared at him, her words dying on her lips. She stared at him in what appeared to be genuine shock, her eyebrows furrowing and her voice dropping. When she spoke again, all she said was a soft, broken-sounding "What?"

Maxson paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then spoke. "When I stood there at Listening Post Bravo with your gun at my feet, I realized something," he leveled a finger at her, meeting her hard eyes. "I realized that this was the one moment where I had _any_ sort of power over you. Because you're right. There isn't a damn person on this ship who can stop you, O'Hare. Not Proctor Ingram, not Lancer-Captain Kells, and not even me. But if I had Danse's life hanging in my hands—a life that you foolishly seem keen to protect above your own safety and the safety of your brother and sisters—then I could have made you listen. I could have made you realize that the Brotherhood is not here to broker peace, or save synths, or cater to the individual needs of every single person that swears to our cause. We are here to save _them_. Those men and women down below who live in fear for their lives when ghouls swarm them in the hundreds or when synths take them in the night. We preserve them, and we preserve pieces from a time when these horrors would have never existed. A time you came from, O'Hare! And yet, you look at a thing like Danse, and you think it deserves the same treatment? A piece of technology that runs amok, that lives and breathes but can never and will never be the thing it seeks to emulate. So yes, I should have killed Danse all those months ago, because only then, O'Hare, would you have realized that the Brotherhood isn't here to serve your ideals. We are here to save the Commonwealth, and apparently we're here to save people like you from your own-fucking-selves. And only then would you listen to my reasoning, and then you wouldn't be the soldier that we all admire but never could strive to be."

For once, it seemed that he'd stunned O'Hare into blissful silence. She stared at him like he had struck her across the face: with wide, empty eyes and her mouth agape. She was clutching a stimpak that she was about to stuff into her pack, but her arms hung dead at her sides. After a while she shut her mouth, stretching it tautly into a thin line that quivered like a dead leaf on a tree branch, but she said nothing more.

"Do we understand each other, Paladin?" Maxson growled.

A furious expression passed over her features. She looked for a moment like she would rather disembowel herself right here and now with a scalpel than say anything else, but she finally let out a strained "Yes".

"Good," with that, Maxson turned and headed for the door. He was reaching for the door when O'Hare piped up one last time.

"Elder," she was quiet, controlled, and restrained. A far cry from how she normally was, but a welcome sound nonetheless. God, he could get used to that, "may I ask you a question?"

Maxson retracted his hand. "Make it quick, Paladin," he said.

"Why do you fear me?"

His eyes found hers, perplexed. There was a lightness to her tone, as if she was telling some sort of joke, but Maxson only felt a twinge of frustration and disdain. "Fear you?" he repeated with a scoff, "I don't fear you."

"Really?" O'Hare's hazel eyes were burning, "Then why haven't you assigned me to a permanent squad yet?"

Was she being serious? "You haven't been on the Prydwen for two months, O'Hare. Or else I would have put you on a more permanent patrol unit," he said. "Did you forget that you prioritize building power generators out of tin cans and toilet bowls over your Brotherhood duties?"

"Do you remember when you sent me to exterminate that super mutant hive?" if she heard his reasoning, she certainly gave no sign of it. O'Hare crossed the room to close the locker door, keeping her gaze on him the whole time, "You told me the scribes had just discovered its location. You were positive I could handle it by myself, so I agreed. I mean, I wanted to prove that I could handle myself. You told me to go on my own. Said something about not having enough men to spare. I accepted that as a reality."

O'Hare headed for the bed now. Maxson stepped out of the path towards her things as she wandered back over.

"It was so dangerous, apparently, that Danse insisted he come with me in spite of it being a solo mission directly from you. Were you aware of this, Elder?"

"It appears you failed to put that in your mission report, Paladin."

"Mhm," she nodded in agreement. "Well, at first I refused, but he insisted. And you know what, I'm damn glad he did, because what do I find at this junkyard I'm sent to? Twenty-five super mutants, enough mutant hounds to create my own dogsled company, and even a behemoth for good measure. Fancy that, right?"

Maxson rolled his eyes, "Where are you going with this?"

"It took us four hours to clear the place out," O'Hare continued as if she hadn't heard him. She picked up a combat shotgun and slid it into a makeshift holster on her pack. "Took an hour and a half alone to take down the behemoth. Thing was about twenty feet tall and not at all happy to take lasers to the face for ninety minutes. Danse and I came straight back to the Prydwen. We'd been gone, what, three days at that point? We must've blown through enough medical supplies to sedate ten brahmin. Danse's power armor was basically just a metal ribcage when we came aboard."

"Get to the point, O'Hare," Maxson snapped.

She looked at him, shook her head slightly, and continued. "Well, when I asked Kells about why a huge hive like that had only been discovered now, imagine my shock when he said that he was in the process of gathering about fifteen knights for a raid of his own. Apparently, the hive was so dangerous that all other squads that had been sent there hadn't come back. Oh, and it seems that it wasn't just discovered a few days before. Seems like the scribes found it a while back, almost right after the Prydwen came waltzing through the Commonwealth, spouting its bullshit from the air like the goddamned Goodyear blimp. It seemed you neglected to tell me that, eh?"

"So maybe I did." Maxson growled unapologetically. "Why are you wasting my time with things I can easily learn for myself."

"Because I noticed a pattern," O'Hare responded. "I noticed that after a while, you would only send me on dangerous missions by myself. You would force me to take scribes and squires to dangerous places all on my lonesome, entrusting me to keep them safe. Kells and Quinlan might've given me those orders, yes, but I know for a fact that they came directly from you. Doesn't seem like a great lesson in teamwork, in my opinion. And I always wondered why. I never could put my finger on it until after you sent me to kill Danse. And you know what I asked myself the entire way back? 'Why me?'"

Maxson's hands involuntarily curled into fists. "I was testing you," he growled.

"Testing me?" O'Hare echoed, "Or setting me up for failure?"

Maxson's heart was beating wildly in his chest.

There was a cold seriousness to O'Hare's voice that seemed to carry death itself. "Why is it that every single time you send me on a mission, Maxson, I get the feeling that you're praying to whatever God you believe in that I don't come back?"

Silence greeted her words. Maxson pursed his lips and didn't utter a single thing. O'Hare looked at his face, studying what she saw there. Her eyes traced the scar that was etched into his cheek. Her own scar rippled as her brow furrowed in contemplation. "You claim that you can't control me, but it's more than that, isn't it? You don't just dislike me for my attitude-you look at me and you just wish you could put a fucking bullet through my brain. And it probably infuriates you even more when I'm not on deck, because that means I'm fucking up shit somewhere else. So, I get the strangest feeling that you're hoping the Commonwealth will take care of me one of these days. You're probably thinking that if you just keep throwing these missions at me, then one day I'll come back in a pine box. And you know what, Maxson? Maybe I will, maybe I won't, but I'm willing to bet that if I haven't died by now, then I probably ain't going to be dying anytime soon."

She crossed the room for a final time, heading for the desk. Before reaching for the Pip-Boy, she paused next to the laser rifle. When she picked it up, Maxson eyed the words scratched into it— "Righteous Authority", Danse's alias for its first ever Brotherhood-issued gun. It must've left the thing here before Maxson gave the order to hunt it down.

He half expected O'Hare to point the gun at his chest and pull the trigger, but she only placed the rifle onto some hooks nailed into the corkboard on the wall above the desk. Her movements were slow and somber, almost dreamlike. Only when she was sure that it wouldn't fall back on the table did she reach for her Pip-Boy.

"I didn't want to join at first," O'Hare confessed. "I was so focused on getting back home that I told him that I didn't have time to participate for his little cult. I thought he'd be offended, but he wasn't. He even gave me his laser rifle," she let out a strained sort of laugh. " _'Righteous_ _Authority'_ ; God, what a stupid name for a gun."

Damn his curiosity. "Then why come back?" Maxson asked.

O'Hare didn't answer right away. She adjusted the Pip-Boy and jostled it on her wrist to make sure it was tight enough, her eyes lost in memories. "Because it was the only thing I could do," she said. "Because I wanted to believe that the Brotherhood wasn't this huge boogeyman come to wage war like everyone told me it was.

"Every time someone warned me about what the Brotherhood was capable of, I thought back to this rifle and I wondered if Danse was anything like the stories said," she smiled sadly, bringing her hand up so she could run her fingers over the words Danse had carved into the stock. "I wanted…I believed that they were wrong, because if Danse could be honorable and respectful to a woman who'd arrived on his doorstep, muddy and bloodied and cursing up a storm, then anything could be possible."

"O'Hare," Maxson said, "If the situation were reversed, and I tasked Danse with the mission I tasked you, do you think that it would have spared you?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, boring into him with those hazel eyes, "and I think he would have spared you, too."

Maxson didn't respond.

It was possible that she sensed there was nothing left to say, or that she was satisfied with where the conversation had turned, but O'Hare returned for her things. She slung the pack over her shoulder, patted the holster with her sidearm, and turned to him. "If you'll excuse me, I need to be going. There's been word on Radio Freedom that someone's gone missing. I need to find out where they went."

"Do you require a squad's assistance?" Maxson offered, already knowing the answer.

Something shifted in her eyes. "It's a touch too delicate for Brotherhood personnel," she said evenly. "I think the sight of a full-on squadron of power armored soldiers would only make everything worse."

Nodding, Maxson made for the door, only to stop when O'Hare beat him to it. "Elder, one more thing?"

"Yes?"

Maxson extended his hand for the door but she batted it away. She turned back to him. "Let me tell you just this once," she said, tone formal, "If you ever come near one of my settlements…if you _ever_ lay a hand on even one of the people under the Minutemen's protection, then I will not hesitate to burn this entire goddamn ship to the ground. And I will make sure that you are the only person that goes down with it, because I want the fires that I cause to be the last thing you feel as you die and the first thing that greets you when you arrive in Hell."

Again, Maxson said nothing.

"Do we understand each other, Elder?"

Their stalemate lasted only a few seconds longer before Maxson grit out a single "Yes."

"Good," and with that, O'Hare opened the door to her quarters. "Now get the fuck out of my room."

Maxson was more than happy to oblige.

He didn't see her leave. O'Hare waited as he went down the hall to speak with Proctor Ingram about the status of Liberty Prime. His mind felt a million miles away as Proctor Ingram and Doctor Li explained the new developments on their super-weapon. When their briefing was finished, he was pulled from his stupor by Ingram asking about how O'Hare had fared. Maxson couldn't remember what he had told her. Maybe just some false assurance that her disobedience had been curtailed, or perhaps just a confirmation that there was in fact a discussion between the two. He knew that Proctor Ingram wasn't satisfied with what he told her, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care much. He wandered off, leaving the two women to their duties. On his way back to the flight deck he passed O'Hare's quarters and tested the door. Locked, as he expected; O'Hare must've left while he was checking in with Proctor Ingram.

Maxson stared out the windows of the Prydwen's command deck for the longest time, gazing upon the ruined landscape they were stationed above. Lancer-Captain Kells joined him after some time, again asking about O'Hare, eager to know if she'd been punished. Maxson told him that she hadn't.

"A shame," he said furiously. "I told you—she needs to be put back in line."

"Lancer-Captain Kells, who is Initiate Danvers' sponsor?"

"Erm…that would be Knight Kinkade, Elder."

"Put in an announcement. I wish to speak to him about Initiate Danvers' unruliness during today's briefing."

Lancer-Captain Kells' voice was hard with surprise and confusion. "You can't be serious?" he demanded. "Paladin O'Hare gets by with a slap on the wrist, but Initiate Danvers gets a full punishment? How is that fair?"

" _Now,_ Kells."

Lancer-Captain Kells, amidst a flurry of muttered curses and doubts he would never act upon, did as he was told and exited. Maxson found himself alone once more, accepting the silence as he pondered what he would say to Knight Kinkade. But his mind wandered once more.

He wondered where O'Hare had gone off to.

Despite his better judgement, he once again found himself wondering where Danse had disappeared.

And Maxson knew that this time, it would just be better if he never found the answer.

* * *

 **Literally this entire fic can be summarized through a TL;DR vine:**

 **SoSu: "Alright let's tell each other a secret about ourselves."**

 **SoSu: "I'm gonna go first. I...hate you."**

 **Thanks for reading and please follow, fav or review if you enjoyed!**


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